


Outsider

by phoenixgal



Series: Scenes from a Life [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexuality, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Pairings, Threesome, Voyeurism, happy marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9710111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixgal/pseuds/phoenixgal
Summary: Five moments of friendship, sex, and comfort between Harry and Neville over the decades. Neville-centric.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally the first thing I wrote in this series and it still stands alone really well, I think.
> 
> Lots of hurt/comfort and friendship in the second and fourth parts. Smutty bits in the third and fifth parts. Nearly all M/M but Ginny does get in there a bit.

It was a testament to how stir crazy they were all going that anyone thought a Sunday afternoon party would be a fun idea and not just a stupid way to risk expulsion. It had not been D.A. students who arranged the party, but it did seem like most of them were going. Neville heard Hermione complain to some of the Hufflepuffs that it was a terrible idea with everything else that was going on, but Justin snapped back at her that while it hadn't been his idea, he understood why everyone needed to blow off steam with Umbridge terrorizing everyone.

And when the time came, huge numbers of the fourth years and above having sneaked out to the dank cellar filled with stolen butterbeer bottles and rigged up to play the wizarding wireless so everyone could dance, Neville noticed that even Hermione seemed to be having a good time. She was explaining house elf rights to some of the fourth year Ravenclaws who actually seemed to be interested in the debate.

When the dance floor got busy, Neville watched everyone blow off steam by moving in time with the beats. Even Seamus was out on the floor bobbing his head and shaking his hips. Hannah gave him a little wave from where she was dancing in a group with some of her friends, but Neville couldn't bring himself to actually dance. Despite his recent successes with the D.A. and the praise Professor Sprout had been giving him, he still felt like an outsider.

It wasn't just that he thought he'd be lucky to pass enough O.W.L.'s to squeak by to N.E.W.T. level in anything. He had made friends, finally. He had people to talk to and hang out with. But it never felt quite right.

At a pause in the music, he left early and went out onto the grounds for a walk.

It was cold out, with only the faintest hint of spring coming on. Neville trudged up the hill overlooking the lake.

Someone else was out, walking from the lake toward him and for a moment, Neville cringed. Anyone that tall who was not at the party was probably a Slytherin. However, as he made out the face, he realized it was Harry.

“Not in the mood for a party?” Harry asked him.

Neville shrugged. “I'm surprised you're not there.”

Harry gestured toward the castle and they both walked along one of the paths that ringed the buildings. Neville liked that Harry was apparently also a wanderer when he was restless. It was funny that they hadn't met before if they both liked to walk the grounds.

“I didn't have anyone to go with,” Harry said.

“Oh. Most people weren't there as couples.” Unsaid was the fact that there had been a lot of couples there. Ever since the Yule Ball of the year before, Neville had noticed how many couples there were everywhere. Sometimes it seemed like who was dating who and who had a crush on who was all anyone talked about these days, if they weren't complaining about Umbridge or asking for help with too much homework.

“I thought maybe you'd ask Hannah,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Neville said. “I like Hannah just fine. I don't know if…” He trailed off, unsure what to say.

“You shouldn't sell yourself short, Neville,” Harry said. “It's not like back in first year, you know.”

He sounded so much like he did when he was in D.A. lessons, like an encouraging teacher, that Neville stifled a giggle.

“I mean it,” Harry said. “You're… well, you're right fit now. Any girl would be lucky if you asked them to the party.”

“But I don't like any of the girls,” Neville blurted out, then he nearly covered his mouth out of shock.

They were in view of the edge of the forest, which was already growing dark in the fading light. Harry paused and looked at Neville, but then continued, as if Neville hadn't said anything unusual.

“Last year I fancied Cho,” he said. “This year… I don't know either.”

In for a sickle, in for a galleon, Neville thought. “That's not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Harry sounded hesitantly curious.

Neville wasn't sure why he was suddenly determined to do this. He'd never said it out loud. It was yet another thing making him different from everyone else, making him an outsider. But if there was anyone he trusted, it was Harry.

“I… I...” he felt his old stutter rear up and a sweat that was out of place in the chill afternoon prickled his forehead. “I… I l...l...like blokes,” he said.

Harry looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?” He seemed genuinely confused.

Neville felt rather desperate. He hadn't intended to do this. Part of him felt relieved and another part wanted the ground to swallow him up. “You know, to… to… kiss and all that,” he finished.

“Oh,” Harry said. “I didn't know that could...” He looked strangely bewildered and Neville was struck with how innocent Harry was sometimes. He didn't talk much about his growing up before he came to Hogwarts, but Neville knew enough to know it hadn't been good and that he'd been sheltered and mistreated. It wasn't as if there were gay wizards everywhere, but Neville knew they existed.

“It's okay, Harry,” Neville said. What a funny thing to be reassuring Harry at this moment. “Please don't tell anyone. I don't want anyone to… well...”

“Of course, Neville,” Harry said, still looking as though he hadn't totally recovered from a confounding charm. “I wouldn't.”

They walked back toward the castle in silence. By the time they made it up to the Gryffindor common room, many of the students were back from the party.

“Exactly like I warned them. Mrs. Norris sniffed them out,” Hermione explained, as though she had not been there laughing and dancing along with everyone else.

Neville took some of his revision up to his bed and tried to study. When bedtime came, he heard the boisterousness of Seamus and Dean, the chatter of Ron, and the quiet movement of Harry as the rest of the boys took their beds. Some time after the lights went out, he saw Harry's wand light up with a quiet lumos spell.

Harry made his way over to Neville's bed and perched on the edge. “Neville?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry if today I didn't say the right things.”

Neville nearly laughed. Harry had not punched him, hexed him, called him names, or told anyone else. It had been a pretty brilliant reaction as far as Neville was concerned. “It's fine,” he said earnestly. “Really, Harry. You were the first person I ever told.” It seemed important somehow to point this out.

“Oh. Thanks.” Harry said it like Neville had just given him an unexpected gift.

“You're welcome,” Neville said. Maybe it was a gift. Now he did laugh, his nervous giggle escaping and turning into a louder, fuller laugh as Harry joined him.

“Oi! Go to sleep, you two!” Dean called.

So Harry went back to his bed and Neville smiled again, still feeling like an outsider, but like maybe Harry was a sort of outsider too.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the last funeral and the only Muggle funeral Neville had ever attended. To get there, he had to apparate in an alleyway in the city and walk half a mile, looking at an unmoving paper map, until he got to the church.

Dennis was there, looking pale and even smaller than usual. He greeted Neville with a little smile that turned into a hiccup. There was a photo of his brother on a table, looking unnaturally still.

Neville sat down on one of the back pews. There were lots of people there, but not a lot of Hogwarts students or staff. He recognized Romilda and Bethany sitting toward the front. Bethany's mother was a halfblood so maybe she knew what to expect. Neville remembered that she'd been terrified that the Carrows would find her out. It hadn't been illegal to be a quarter Muggle, but it was hardly a good thing.

It didn't turn out to be all that different from wizard funerals. Neville felt he was in a good position to compare seeing as this was his eighth funeral in the last two weeks. There was organ music, as well. That was different. And even though he had worn black, he felt underdressed not in robes.

At some point in the service, he saw someone slide into the pew out of the corner of his eye. When he turned, he realized with some surprise that it was Harry. No one else seemed to be with him.

The priest, who had on a funny collar that Neville was given to understand meant something to the Muggles, was talking about ashes and dust and the next life. He looked over at Harry, feeling weary with the whole affair. He doubted the priest knew anything real about Colin. Not that he had been working on a method to make wizarding photos be able to talk or that his favorite subject had been Charms or that he once fell off his broom in the Forbidden Forest during a nighttime joyride during his third year. Certainly not that he was brave and had the heart of a Gryffindor. Neville only knew those things because he'd learned them in the D.A. two years before.

Even though Colin hadn't been through the last year, Neville felt an odd sense of protectiveness toward every member of the D.A. that extended to Colin. He wondered if Harry felt the same way, though for different reasons. Really, the D.A. was Harry's, not Neville's, no matter how attached and protective Neville had grown about the group in the last year. They had been the ones who had stood up quietly as they could to the Carrows. Quiet but strong. Neville hadn't been the only one who had taken a beating for the younger kids. He was sure if Colin had been there, he would have done the same. Harry had done the same in a different way.

Neville glanced over at Harry then, hoping to catch his eye and share a look of some kind. He hadn't seen him in the last two weeks since the battle. It had been such a tumult of funerals and interviews and family.

He didn't catch his eye though. Harry was studiously looking off at the far wall. Neville followed his gaze, but couldn't see anything of interest there. It was just a corner of the church, with a heavy wooden rafter and a white plaster stretch that led to the white walls. Neville looked back at Harry and saw that his hands were gripped on his knees and he was shaking.

This wasn't just casually bouncing his feet to keep from drifting off. Neville himself had been doing that a moment earlier. Harry's hands were trembling and fisted on his trousers.

Neville scooted himself down the pew a little ways and saw Harry jump slightly as he approached.

“'lo,” he whispered.

“Hey, Neville,” Harry said, though he didn't look at him.

They sat there in silence, the funeral service proceeding. Harry seemed to know how to go through the motions of it, standing for some parts and sitting for others so Neville followed along. When it was over, Colin's mother stood for the first time, her face puffy and red, and announced there were refreshments in the church hall.

Harry stood up quickly and Neville realized he was about to leave. Not that he was about to go get whatever Muggle refreshments were in the hall, but he was about to run out of there and probably disapparate away.

Neville stood too, reaching out to grab Harry's wrist. “Harry, wait,” he said.

For a second, Harry whirled on him, looking like he was about to punch Neville or attack him, but then he just calmly pulled his wrist away. “I'd really like to get out of here, honestly,” he said. “I'm not fond of crowds these days.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Neville said. “Want some company?”

For a moment, Neville was sure he'd turn him down, but then Harry shrugged. “Sure. I can side-along you.”

Neville followed Harry out to the empty church yard where, taking his hand, Neville felt himself pulled with a lurch in the center of his belly.

They appeared on the stoop of a tall, gray house on a busy Muggle street. Harry opened the door for them and they stepped inside. What Neville could see was a wreck of a space. It looked like, maybe until very recently, parts of the house had been exposed to the elements. Things were repaired, but Neville could see leaves and Muggle trash in some of the corners as well as fragments of bricks and glass shards.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry said.

“What is this place?”

“It was my godfather's,” Harry said. “Sirius Black. He left it to me.”

“You're not… staying here?” Neville asked. It seemed unlivable.

“It's not so bad upstairs where Kreacher has been cleaning. I stayed in much worse places in the last year.”

Neville wasn't sure what to say to that. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione had turned up back at Hogwarts, they had known he'd been off doing something all year to fight Voldemort, but Neville was still sketchy about the details. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, Harry had explained to him something about the snake having a part of Voldemort's strength inside it, but Neville still didn't really get it. He was used to that in some ways. Complicated magic was often too complicated for him.

“I thought you might be staying with the Weasleys,” Neville said.

“I was,” Harry said. “But after Fred's funeral, Hermione and Ron left to find Hermione's parents in Australia and I didn't really feel right there anymore.”

That raised even more questions for Neville. Why were Hermione's parents in Australia and what had happened that Harry wouldn't be comfortable with the Weasleys? He knew that Ginny had hoped they would get back together if the war ever ended. Now the war was over and here was Harry in a mostly destroyed old house in London while Ginny was back with her parents.

“Come on inside,” Harry said. “The kitchen isn't so bad. I can put tea on.”

The kitchen really wasn't so bad. Harry pointed him to a cleaned up kitchen table and Neville took a seat. The sink looked like it was in working order. Harry filled a funny looking kettle with water then pressed something on it.

“Electric kettle,” Harry said. “I learned to cook when I was young, but only with Muggle things.” He sounded apologetic. Neville noticed that he kept looking around the room as if someone was about to come in. Neville had sat down and the Muggle kettle seemed to be doing its Muggle magic, but Harry kept circling the kitchen aimlessly, looking unsure about the room. It was oddly distracting.

“I forget sometimes that you grew up with Muggles,” Neville said. “When we all met you first year, that must have been a shock to find out you were so famous already.”

Harry nodded. “You have no idea.”

The kettle made a funny beeping sound and Harry jumped at it, but he tried to play it off like nothing had happened. He filled two mugs with hot water and added little bags holding the tea, which Neville assumed was more Muggle cooking. The little bag had a tiny string and a tag attached that hung over the side of the mug. Neville lifted the one Harry handed him. Muggles really were clever, he thought.

“So, you're here alone?” Neville asked, sipping his tea.

Harry glanced around, as if to confirm that, then nodded.

“And… what are you doing? What are you going to do next?”

“I've been talking to Kingsley, um, you know, Shacklebolt, the new Minister. I had to explain… everything. He told me to take some time and then he wants me to help hunt down some of the Death Eaters who got away. There are going to be a lot of trials. I may have to be at some of them. It's all in the future though. Nothing right now… not really.”

Neville looked around again and felt a sense of unease. Harry Potter was staying alone in a half destroyed London flat, looking like he was going to jump out of his own skin. This couldn't be good for him. But he didn't know what to say. So he started to talk about himself, even though Harry hadn't asked. He explained that he was going back to Hogwarts for an eighth year study with Professor Sprout and to take his N.E.W.T.'s, which no one had been able to take. There would probably be a handful of other students from their year who had higher ambitions who stayed as well. He'd heard Professor McGonagall say that they'd be issuing special diplomas for all the students in their year and that there would be a special, houseless dormitory set up for the students who stayed.

“I thought Hermione would probably come back as well. So then I wouldn't be the only Gryffindor there,” Neville said. “But I guess she's out of the country now. Still, there's time. It would be nice if it wasn't just me and all the Ravenclaws. They would show me up for sure.”

Harry seemed to only be half listening to him. Part of Neville wanted to say something really shocking just to see if Harry would notice. His nervous babbling won out instead.

“For now I'm back at home staying with Gran. But she's much easier to deal with now. She doesn't treat me like a little kid. She's even proud that Professor Sprout asked me especially to come back and study. And I told her about me. You know, about how I… I'm gay. And that was all right. It was a good idea to come out when everyone had better things to worry about, I suppose.” He stifled a nervous laugh. He thought things were going to be fine with his grandmother. She hadn't said much when he told her, just started back in on how proud she was of him in the battle and how he might become a famous herbologist one day if he kept up. That seemed like good signs, though he did wonder a few times with the lack of fuss if she'd even really heard him. Sometimes she was hard of hearing.

Harry's eyes had finally flickered to him and he looked like he had something to say, but then he looked away again.

There was a rattling sound coming from upstairs. Neville watched as Harry started. He was also a little startled, but then he understood when a very elderly house elf dragging an oversized sack emerged from the stairwell, muttering and sighing.

“Is Master having his tea? Master should also have some food so he does not starve. Except Master is intent on starving. Kreacher thinks Master is refusing to eat. But Kreacher will make Master some food and then he will waste all Kreacher's efforts. And Master has company. But the house is not fit for company. But no, Master brings people anyway. Brings the Minister of Magic. And the Mudblood. And he doesn't tell Kreacher these people are coming, no...”

“Kreacher, I'm fine,” Harry said distractedly. “You know you don't need to do that...”

“Master thinks I don't need to clean. He tells Kreacher not to. My mistress would not have liked the state of this house. Windows broken and walls with holes. Kreacher is having to fix these things.”

Neville had grown up seeing house elves in most of the houses of his gran's older friends. He knew they could be quirky, touchy creatures, but this one seemed to take the cake. Harry looked so passive about its behavior that Neville didn't comment as the house elf dropped its bundle and began trying to tidy the messy kitchen, as if to get it clean for Neville. Except that Neville was already there.

“Um,” Harry said. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Sure,” Neville agreed, if only because it would let him escape the mutterings of the house elf. He drained the last bit of his tea as Harry led him up the stairs into a labyrinthine maze of bedrooms.

Harry had been right. The house was in better shape upstairs, but there were strange portraits on the walls, some rooms with thick layers of dust, and one room piled with furniture. Everything was shabby. Neville peeked into one room and discovered to his surprise and mild delight, that there was magical gate ivy growing wild through the windows. He went over to it and touched the leaves, watching with delight as they turned from their mild green to a harsh red and began growing prickers.

“Oh, Harry, do you mind if I try to take a cutting of this?” he asked.

“I haven't really been in this particular room since before,” Harry said, standing in the doorway, looking around.

Other than the ivy, it was a nearly empty bedroom, with a bed and a series of chests. Harry stepped inside, and without warning, one of the chests sprang open and a dementor floated out, right toward Harry.

Neville was too shocked to do anything for a moment, but Harry reacted immediately, drawing his wand and casting Expecto Patronum like a kneejerk reaction.

For a moment, the silvery thread of a patronus emerged from Harry's wand and Neville, who had seen his patronus several times over the years, caught a flicker of its stag shape before it faded. Harry looked frustrated, then pale. “Expecto...” he said, but everything had happened so fast and before he could finish the spell, the creature had floated to him and Neville watched, horrified, as Harry passed out on the floor, crumpling into a heap.

By then, Neville had his wits about him and his own wand drawn. The dementor turned to face him but by the time he had taken a step forward, the dementor had shifted and Neville saw the sallow face of Amycus Carrow standing before him, sneering, his eyes bloodshot, his wand raised toward Harry's still unconscious figure.

For half a second, Neville was frozen in terror and confusion before his mind, which was always too slow in situations like these, finally caught up to the truth. There had been no chill with the dementor and Amycus was dead.

“Riddiculus!” Neville said, watching as the figure of his tormentor was suddenly put into his gran's clothes. It had worked on Snape years ago and it worked again, at least to make him smile. He didn't think he had the laughter in him to defeat the boggart, but he did think he could imprison it, so he cast the charm again, this time watching the boggart stretch unevenly like a funhouse mirror. It fled back to its dark trunk, the lid slightly ajar. Neville quickly shut and latched the trunk, feeling as it shook beneath his trembling hands.

“Harry?” he said, kneeling beside his friend. “It was just a boggart. I put it back in its trunk. Harry?”

Neville laid his hand on Harry's side and shook him gently and repeated himself. “It's all right, Harry,” he said.

Harry managed to sit up, and as he did, Neville saw that he was shaking and his face had teared up. Neville had seen this before. Kids who had been terrorized by Crabbe and Goyle or beaten by the Carrows for misbehavior, who had seen their friends have to leave school and go on the run from the Snatchers. Sometimes they just cracked for awhile. But they were safe now. And this was Harry Potter. Neville felt deeply unnerved.

Still, he did for Harry what he had done for a few of those kids, as he hid them out in the Room of Requirement or in the tunnel to Hogsmeade.

“It's all right now, Harry,” he said over and over. He awkwardly wrapped an arm around him.

Harry took Neville's embrace and clung to him, burying his face in the Muggle style button shirt Neville had worn for the funeral and sobbing uncontrollably.

They stayed like that for longer than Neville could mark. He just kept repeating himself the best he could, feeling more and more awkward about the embrace as their bodies seemed to become more entangled. His shirt was damp and Harry's sobs slowly slackened.

Neville couldn't stand the silence, so like before, when Harry didn't have much to say over tea, Neville began to fill the silence with babbled words.

“Colin was a true Gryffindor. No one ever expected him to be brave, but he always was. If he'd been there last year, he would have been fighting with us the whole way. I'll bet he would have been one of our best weapons. You'd be surprised who rose to the challenge, Harry. Lavender… well, she was always a bit empty headed, right? But she knew just how to be devious. She took a beating from Parkinson for a fourth year Hufflepuff girl.”

Neville felt as Harry's body began to relax in his arms, but he didn't try to move away. If anything he clung even tighter to Neville.

“It was almost easier before he died to know what to do. We just had to wait, and fight, and hold out the best we could. But it was a mission. This is much harder in a way. Some people didn't make it and we saw them die and we don't know why we're here and they're not. There's no reason for it. And suddenly there's nothing to do. No classes, no resistance. I keep thinking the kids must be having a blast celebrating, reuniting with their parents, riding their brooms again and all that. And the adults have things to do. Gran has been helping the Ministry fix their library. And all the aurors are busy catching the Death Eaters who are still out there. They have things to do still. But us, we're stuck with nothing, like we're in between childhood and adulthood and there's nothing for us. But like I said, Harry, Colin, he was tops. And so was Fred. And Professor Lupin. Someone said you're his son's godfather, which, that's great, Harry...”

Neville wasn't sure how long he babbled, just that it seemed to be working, calming Harry down, even if his grip on Neville didn't relax.

“Ginny must be so glad you're back. I know she wanted...”

Finally Neville seemed to have reached a topic that Harry had noticed. “Don't talk about Ginny,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“All right.” Neville paused, unsure what to say.

That was when Harry finally drew back and looked at Neville for a moment. Then, to Neville's great shock, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

Neville had never kissed anyone properly before. Harry tasted salty, probably of tears, and slightly sweet, like maybe he'd been eating caramels. Their lips fit together perfectly and Neville, who had always wondered how anyone knew just how to move in sync during a kiss or when to open one's mouth or use one's tongue, found that it was something so naturally negotiated that no one really had to think about it.

Kissing was also, it turned out, very arousing. Neville felt he had gotten well over any crush he might have had on Harry, especially back in sixth year, when Harry had gotten tall and Neville had thought he might have to run away and wank every time he caught sight of his roommate dripping wet after a shower in their dorm. As they kissed, all that came rushing back to him with the wonder that this was really happening. Harry Potter had actually kissed him. It was like a fantasy come to life.

But, no.

This was nothing like any fantasy Neville had ever had about any man. He wasn't even sure if Harry particularly wanted him or if he was just needy. Or maybe, and this was almost too horrible to think about, but maybe there was something really wrong with Harry. Harry had never said anything to Neville about being attracted to men, and of all the people Neville knew, Harry was the person who had known about his own preferences the longest.

Neville broke the kiss. “Harry?” he gasped out. “Harry… I don't think this is you. Or… is this really…?”

“Please,” Harry begged. “I just want to feel something that's not… that's...” He didn't seem able to finish his thoughts, but Neville had a sense of it because in a different way, he felt it too.

It was the need to feel something good, something uncomplicated.

Neville awkwardly leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against Harry's.

“The… bed?” Harry asked.

Neville stood, glancing at the musty mattress dubiously, but Harry grabbed his own wand from where it had fallen on the floor and cast some sort of cleaning charm Neville didn't recognize. The dusty, bare mattress looked fresh suddenly.

Neville sat on the edge of the bed, but Harry immediately kissed him again and pushed him down.

For a moment, Harry was atop him and Neville felt exhilarated. Harry was a mess from all that crying, not to mention the dust from the floor, but Neville didn't care. He kissed back and let Harry's tongue explore his mouth and felt himself grow harder and more excited.

Harry rolled them, pulling Neville on top of him and sighing in pleasure as Neville's weight pressed him down into the bed.

From the position they were in, Neville's erection pressed through his loose, black dressy trousers into Harry's hip and he could feel with some shock Harry's erection doing the same into his own hip. Neville moaned and pressed Harry down harder.

They didn't even take their trousers off. Neville was never sure later how to define what they did. With bodies unaccustomed to sex and the stimulation of another person, with the intensity of kissing, with the psychological desperation they both felt, they just came from the small, unsure thrusts against each other's bodies. Neville felt Harry's release, warm and damp against him and felt Harry's body tense and jerk as he came, crying out. It was so intense that Neville followed him.

And then they were left with a mess, Neville still poised above Harry, unsure what to do now. But Harry, who had been nothing but unpredictable all day, actually fell asleep within minutes of orgasm.

Neville rolled to the side and continued to hold Harry. It seemed like he had probably not slept well in awhile and Neville didn't want to wake him. He quietly cast a scourgify over them to clean them up somewhat then stayed still as he could, holding Harry as he slumbered.

Eventually, as the sun began to cast shadows and the room became dimmer, Neville couldn't stand it anymore. He silently rose and crept from the room.

He felt utterly confused, perhaps more confused that he thought he'd ever felt. And he felt helpless. The whole previous year, he'd somehow found himself in charge of a very strange resistance and while it was hard, he had never questioned much what had to be done. Now that things were supposedly better, he had no idea what needed to be done. And especially he had no idea what needed to be done for Harry.

Neville knew better than most people that torture and horror could break a person irreparably. Seeing Harry act so erratically scared him. It scared him in a way that facing down Amycus Carrow or running straight at Voldemort's snake with the sword had never scared him.

He wandered back to the kitchen because at least he'd seen a sink there and could wash up. He found the strange house elf there, clearing away debris by making it disappear into nothingness. The strange little thing seemed to have no method to its madness though. He disappeared a small pile of leaves in the hall while leaving twigs everywhere, only to move on to a single piece of broken glass in the kitchen while not bothering with the rest.

“Kreacher sees Master's friend is awake. Probably he is another blood traitor who wants something from Kreacher. Master is sleeping but he won't sleep for long. He'll scream and won't let Kreacher clean up in peace.” The house elf didn't seem to be capable of stopping his mad mutterings. He was probably mostly senile, Neville realized. He looked like he was at least a century old.

Neville didn't like what the house elf was saying though. “Um, Kreacher?” Neville said. “Has Harry had anyone here other than me?”

“He is talking to Kreacher and thinks Kreacher will answer. Master does not want me to tell his secrets. Bad men were after Kreacher's Master. Maybe if Kreacher smiles at it, the strange man will go away.”

The house elf gave Neville a very odd look that, without the context of the creature's constant narration, Neville would never had thought of as a smile. Then he bowed slightly and walked slowly out of the room muttering some more.

“Wait,” Neville said. “Kreacher, we need to help Harry… um, your Master. You said he's not sleeping well. I want you to carry a note to someone for me.”

It took a little while for Neville to find a quill and parchment. Kreacher wasn't very helpful in the matter. Then he wrote out the note, hoping the house elf would actually follow his orders despite the way he was muttering about intruders in his Mistress's house and paranoid delusions about enemies everywhere.

Still, the house elf took the note and Neville waited. At first he just sat there, but then he began to do a more methodical clean up than either Harry or Kreacher had attempted. He found trash bags and a broom that sat in a corner of the living room. When he picked up the broom, he found a colony of doxies under it and had to stun them all and throw them out the window. But then he was able to get to work for a little while. Half an hour later, he had created more than a dozen bags of trash and was piling the most recent bag near the front door when he heard the crack of someone apparating in the house.

He hurried to the kitchen and saw Kreacher walking away from a woman with red hair and freckles in pale green robes.

“Healer Fernsby,” Neville said. “I'm so glad you could come.”

“That is one odd house elf you have there, Neville. And, please, I think I told you several times since you got so grown up to call me Althea. Though, I have to notice you haven't been by in awhile.”

Neville nodded and blushed slightly. Althea Fernsby had known him much of his life. He couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been around. But now that he was technically an adult, he had realized how young she was compared to the other adults in his life. It was funny how growing up gave you these perspectives.

“I, um, I've been busy.”

“So I hear.” She set down a small leather case she was carrying on the kitchen countertop. “But, social visit later. The letter that vile little thing gave me said you needed my help professionally.”

“Maybe,” Neville squeaked. Now that he'd gotten her there, he felt like he was intruding. But he knew whatever was happening with Harry was too big for him. He was hurting and trying to find his way as well. He didn't think he could handle it. “You see, I have a friend. This is his house. He just had a pretty bad time in the war.”

Neville tried to explain things. He realized, as he finished, that he himself was shaking slightly in fear, a fear he had not been able to quite put a name to.

“Neville, I haven't met him, but it doesn't sound like he's about to lose his mind. Whatever happened to him, it's not like what they did to your parents.”

Neville nodded and then let out a breath he hadn't even known he had been holding inside him. “The mind can be fragile...” he started. It was something the healers had been saying to him since he was very young.

“It can also be very resilient,” Althea said. 

Neville nodded. 

They heard a sound from upstairs and Neville looked at Althea in panic.

“Go on,” she said.

Neville met Harry at the foot of the steps. Harry looked confused and cornered and embarrassed.

“I thought you left,” he said.

“I didn't think I should leave you alone,” Neville replied.

For a moment they looked at each other in the dark stairwell.

“About earlier...” Harry started.

“I'm not sorry we did that,” Neville said, in a strange rush, still not sure what they had even done.

“Oh,” Harry said, still looking confused.

“But I was worried about you,” he continued, hurrying his words out. “So I called a friend of mine because I didn't think… you seem like you're not… like you need some help. And it's okay to ask for help. And I was thinking how you don't have anyone, Harry, if Ron and Hermoine went away. And so I called my friend Althea Fernsby. She's a really ace healer. And she's um, well...”

Neville didn't like the way Harry was looking at him and he lost his nerve for a moment. Harry looked like he'd been cornered by a Hungarian Horntail.

“I don't need anything,” Harry said, sounding angry.

And then Althea was there, standing behind Neville. Harry pulled out his wand, and for a moment, Neville thought he was going to hex the both of them, but instead he just sat down on one of the bottom steps looking defeated.

“Hello, Harry,” Althea said.

“I guess it was inevitable that the press get in here again,” Harry said. “Do you know they won't leave me alone?”

“She's really very trustworthy,” Neville said. “I… um...”

“Oh, sod off, Neville,” Harry said, not looking at him.

Althea had pulled out her wand and had crouched down to the floor below the steps. She flicked her wand at the dusty floor. “Pulverus,” she said before sitting.

“I really don't know anyone in the press,” she said.

Neville stood there dumbly, unsure what to do, but then Harry looked up at him with such ferocity that Neville felt like he might melt. “Um, maybe I should...”

“Do you want Neville to stay?” Althea asked.

“I'm pretty sure I told him to sod off,” Harry repeated.

Neville nodded and hurried to the front door. Once on the stoop, he stood breathing heavily for a moment then, hoping he had pulled himself together, disapparated.

The lobby at St. Mungo's had an eerie feel late in the evening. He knew it wasn't normal visiting hours, but he also knew the place well enough to know that if he walked past the desk and made it up to Permanent Spell Damage, that they'd let him in. He also saw something he had suspected. The wards were fuller than usual, everyone looked slightly overworked. Between the aftermath of a major battle two weeks before and skirmishes off and on with Death Eaters ever since, plus witches and wizards who had been on the run finally able to come in for treatment, they had probably been working overtime.

Peeking into their rooms, Neville saw that his mother was half asleep, sitting in her bed, humming, staring blankly at the wall.

Neville let himself in. He hadn't been there since Christmas. It was the longest he could ever remember have gone without seeing them. Not that they missed him.

“Hi, Mum,” he whispered.

She looked at him and it was almost like she was actually seeing him. Sometimes that happened. In this case, it was probably some side effect of whatever sleep potion they gave her for the evening. It was always a horrible tease, those moments.

Neville felt himself start to cry. “Mum, everything's been so fucked,” he said, sitting on the side of her bed. And then he began telling her everything: about the battle, about the Carrows, about what the last year had really been like, about being gay, about Harry, about how he had probably just completely ruined not only a good friendship but a chance of someone who might have been attracted to him, because he wasn't sure he would ever be able to fall in love.

Of course she didn't respond. She looked at him quizzically, when she noticed him at all. And at some point, she patted him on the head like one might pet a puffskein. And finally she fell asleep. Neville didn't mind. He just wanted to say everything. That was all that mattered.

Neville wiped his face on the button up Muggle shirt he'd been in all day. He really must look afright, he thought, covered in dust and tears and sex, only half cleaned up by spell. But he didn't really care. And he didn't want to leave, so he laid down next to his mum. He had done this when he was really small, he remembered. His gran would bring him before bedtime, after his mum and dad had had their evening potions and were even more docile and vaguely affectionate, and he'd cuddle up to them, as if they were normal parents. Now he was taller than her and the bed was absurdly tiny, but he didn't want to move.

He knew he wasn't really all right at the moment. But he thought maybe he would be eventually. Maybe Harry would be too.


	3. Chapter 3

Neville was surprised to get an invitation to the stag party, but he thought it would be an interesting thing to attend. He saw Harry routinely at various things, but they hadn't exactly been close in the years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Neville felt like he'd done the best he could by Harry, even if they had ended up having a brief falling out over things, and Harry seemed to be doing well, working as a junior auror, giving every outward appearance of being happy.

At Pomona's urging, he'd spent the last year doing an internship at a large Mugglish botanic gardens. He had been bored at the greenhouses where he worked and she had encouraged him to start doing his own academic research.

The result was that Neville had spent a year immersed in Muggle culture and while it was sometimes surreal (he rather thought his Muggle Studies courses had left out all the interesting things), he had mostly enjoyed it. There was a sort of anonymity to life in the Muggle world that never existed in the wizarding world, where the small population, the existence of only a few schools, and the prevalence of just a few dozen well known last names, meant that you were only ever one degree of separation from anyone on the street.

Having a stag party was a Muggle custom so Neville was a little surprised that Harry was having one, but he sent an owl back to Ron that he'd be happy to attend.

When he turned up at The Blue Dragon, a pub on the far end of Diagon Alley, he nearly laughed at the scene he found. About half a dozen blokes were all rounding on Ron, who was looking beyond cornered. The only ones Neville knew were Dean Thomas and George Weasley, but he recognized a couple of others and thought they might be some of the younger people working at the Ministry with Harry and Ron.

“What's wrong with a few pints of firewhiskey out with the lads? Seems like a good night of clean fun to me,” Ron was protesting.

“You promised us a proper Muggle party and we're having drinks at the pub we go to every other week,” George complained.

“And there's not a stripper in sight,” one of Harry's Ministry friends added.

“Right,” Dean echoed.

Ron mumbled something.

“Speak up!” George demanded.

“I don't think it's appropriate!” Ron exploded. “That's our sister he's marrying, you know! And besides, most of us are married men already!”

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Dean said. He noticed Neville and gestured toward him. “Not me or George or Neville. Just all your old Ministry sorts there!”

“No offense intended,” George added with a chuckle.

“None taken,” the man who had complained about the lack of strippers said.

Neville looked over at Harry. To his surprise, he seemed delighted by the chaos that this had caused. He was watching Ron's increasing fluster with a lopsided grin. When Neville's eyes rested on him for a moment too long, he looked up and their eyes met. Neville didn't see Harry often, especially not in the last year. He'd been half surprised to hear about his engagement to Ginny. When he'd briefly seen Ginny after a Harpies game he attended with Luna months ago, she had implied they weren't even together anymore. Now, as their eyes met, Neville remembered with a flush the night they'd spent together just after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry seemed so different now. He was almost lit up and giddy as he broadened his grin at Neville.

After a lot of badgering, Ron finally seemed to give up on being proper, and acceded to the will of the group. Paying for the round they'd had, they set off, first to the other end of Diagon Alley, and then to the tube, and finally to a Muggle strip bar Dean knew about.

Neville had never been anywhere like it. It was an assault on the senses at first, and a bit of a shock to see women wearing nothing but skimpy underthings. One woman came out with some sort of pictures of tiny flowers covering her nipples.

They took a table and the arguments from back at the pub on Diagon Alley started up again. Ron thought it was all right that they'd gone, but that they should avert their eyes. One of the Ministry blokes thought they should do as much as possible and obliviate each other at the end of the evening. Dean ordered them all some Muggle drink Neville hadn't heard of and then explained the concept of lap dances to the rest of them.

“No way,” Ron said.

“It's Harry's party,” one of the Ministry blokes argued. Neville was terrible with names, but he was finally starting to sort them out. This one, with freckles and pale skin was Paul and he had a brother called Chris. The other one, a tall, dark skinned man who worked in Muggle relations, was Nigel.

“He ought to at least get one of these lap dances,” Nigel agreed.

“He's about to marry my sister!” Ron objected for the umpteenth time.

When the dancer, clad in shorts hardly bigger than underpants, and a top that didn't hide much, came over, George paid her and gestured at Harry.

She gave him a broad smile that looked almost genuine and Harry smiled back the relaxed, lopsided grin he'd had before. “You all should go first,” Harry said just before she planted herself on him. “Let Neville enjoy the fun.”

That's how Neville found himself rather abruptly with a half naked woman grinding herself into his crotch. If he'd ever had a doubt that he was utterly and completely gay, this certainly put it to rest. It was one of the least sexy experiences he'd ever had. In fact, as he tried to figure out how to act in front of everyone, he caught sight of Harry and realized that he was thoroughly enjoying watching his discomfort.

Unable to stop himself, Neville began to laugh out loud. He caught Harry's eyes and for a moment he watched as Harry nearly broke out laughing as well, only managing to stop himself by grabbing the tall stemmed glass filled with Muggle alcohol and gulping some down.

The dancer turned around, straddling Neville as the rest of the party whooped and whistled. She smiled at the laughing Neville then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Shoulda told 'em you was a poofter and saved your mates the dough,” she whispered.

Neville tried to nod seriously, but his laughter escaped again as she stood up. “I'll pay for Ron,” he offered, watching as Ron's whole face turned scarlet.

“Make sure we get photographic evidence for Hermione!” George cried.

“No… I don't… it's not even… I'm a married man!” Ron sputtered.

“For now!” Paul said. “I've met your wife!”

Neville chanced looking at Harry again and saw that he had made the right call. Harry was delighted by this turn of events, as the dancer began to do the same routine to Ron as she had to Neville, Ron looking like he'd completely lost control of the evening.

Neville watched as several more of the group experienced a couple of the dancers moving in time to the music just above what Neville could see were relatively obvious erections. At some point, he realized that Harry was trying to catch his attention. He raised his eyebrows and Harry flicked his eyes toward the back of the room. Neville furrowed his brow in mild confusion. He couldn't see anything back there of any interest.

Moments later, Harry added to the pile of Muggle cash on the table. “Get another round, lads. I'll be back after I use the loo.” He disappeared to the back of the establishment.

After a minute of thought, Neville stood up, saying he was ready to leave for the evening. “Sorry. I have an early shift tomorrow,” he tried to explain.

He wound around the tables with sweaty Muggles ogling the action on the stage. When he got to the hall in front of the toilets, he worried for a second he had misunderstood, but then he felt Harry's arms reach out from a darkened corner and take hold of him.

Harry pulled him by the collar of his shirt back toward the corner then leaned up and locked their lips in a hungry, eager kiss, opening his mouth and caressing his tongue against Neville's.

The kissing went on for a long time, or, at least, a long time for the back corner of a strip club. When they pulled apart, Harry's eyes were sparkling. “Where can we go?” he asked. “Obviously not back to mine.”

“Wait,” Neville protested. “Harry… Not that that wasn't fun, but aren't you about to get married in two days? To a woman?”

“In two days isn't now,” he replied, grabbing Neville's hand and interlacing their fingers.

“Harry, no,” Neville objected. “I'll get hexed for sure.”

“Ron is all bark and no bite,” Harry assured him.

“I didn't bloody mean Ron,” Neville said. “I meant Ginny! She can be right scary when she wants. Besides, she's my friend. I wouldn't do that to her.”

Harry chuckled and buried his face in Neville's neck. Neville felt his tongue flicker out at his skin. His body, refusing to listen to reason, melted into Harry's embrace slightly. He can't help remembering the longing of one very strange afternoon spent together four years before and the way he thought he'd permanently ruined his friendship with Harry back then and how he had wanted to go back and change it several times over.

“We have a deal,” Harry said as his mouth began to nip at Neville's ear. “She's off doing whatever she likes this week herself. Or whoever.”

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Neville moaned. “Are you sure?”

In answer, Harry brought them that fraction of an inch closer so that Neville could feel the hard press of his erection against his thigh.

“I have flatmates,” Neville said. “But it should be all right. I can side along you.” He paused. Neville hated taking anyone on side along apparition. He never trusted himself to do it right. But if they didn't disapparate, they'd have to go out of the club through the front door past everyone else. Besides, it would take the better part of the hour to take the tube back and it was hard to ignore the charged feeling between them.

“Brilliant,” Harry said, pulling them into the bathroom together to be assured of privacy from prying Muggle eyes.

Despite the distraction of Harry's fingers laced through his own, Neville managed to get them to the back garden without splinching. “My flatmates are Muggles, you know,” Neville said, pulling out his keys. “It's just easier… you know about my work at the botanic gardens. And they're just down the road there...”

“Has your gran come to visit you here?” Harry teased as Neville opened the door.

“Merlin, no,” Neville said, laughing as one of Harry's hands squeezed his hip.

“You're not going to pass very well if you keep swearing like a wizard,” Harry said, pushing himself against Neville as they entered through the kitchen of the small flat.

Neville let himself be pushed against the counter and sighed. “I'm sure the great Harry Potter can fit in just fine with the Muggles.” Neville grinned then leaned forward to worry at Harry's earlobe, sucking on it then mouthing his way down Harry's neck.

Harry made an indistinct noise then said, “You forget that I was raised by Muggles. I can do Muggle swears just fine, thank you very much.”

“Oh can you, you wanker?” Neville asked.

Harry laughed and then they were kissing again, enthusiastic and messy and with their whole bodies.

“Oi, Nev, that you? You're home early then?”

A skinny young man wearing a torn T-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms wandered into the kitchen carrying a bowl of something.

“Dylan, Harry. Harry, my flatmate Dylan,” Neville said. “Harry's an old schoolmate. And… we'll just take this to the bedroom then.”

Dylan looked surprised, but then whooped as he set his bowl on the counter that Neville and Harry vacated. “Way to go, Nev. Off to a fucking straight boy stripper party and brings home the only bent bloke there, I'd wager.”

“Most definitely,” Harry said.

Harry and Neville were still laughing and Neville felt an almost giddy high as they got to his tiny room. At least it wasn't too messy. The dirty laundry was piled up waiting to be taken to his gran's to be washed the only way Neville knew how, with some housekeeping spells. He still wasn't clear what his flatmates did. The bed wasn't made and there were papers on the tiny desk everywhere and loads of the Muggle pens that Neville had grown to love in a short time. They were so much better than quills.

“Stop wishing you'd tidied up and kiss me again,” Harry insisted, which drew another laugh from Neville.

They knew each other too well after years of living in the same dormitory. Of course Harry would know how Neville kept his space. He wasn't a random pickup from a club.

They fell to the bed and Neville still felt laughter in his body, even if he'd managed to stop actually chuckling out loud. He liked this version of Harry, bright and happy. He reminded Neville of Harry after he'd just won a quidditch game back at school, bubbly and slightly drunk on life.

They managed to peel clothes off, pausing from enthusiastic kisses to strip off shirts, then socks, then trousers, and finally pants, leaving them naked in Neville's bed, their bodies fitted together perfectly. Neville sighed as Harry, draped over him, nipped at his neck and thrust into his hip. This was more than perfect. He knew Harry wasn't about to be his boyfriend or the love of his life, the way he might have once dreamed, back when he was a kid with his first crush. But this was good too. Other than the one afternoon he'd spent with Harry more than three years before, he hadn't been with anyone who wasn't practically a stranger. This was someone he loved. And while it wasn't romantic love, not exactly, it was still enhancing the joy of the experience for Neville.

Neville threw Harry off him and pressed him back down onto the bed. He took one more kiss before moving down, hands on Harry's thighs, until he reached his prick. He was beautiful, Neville thought. And so aroused, his thighs tense against Neville's hands, as if he was ready to thrust into nothing but the air above him.

Neville leaned over and licked him from base to tip, pausing to taste the bit of pre-cum leaking at the tip before doing his best to swallow Harry down entirely.

Harry moaned and thrust up. Neville did his best to slacken his jaw and just let him do it. He was also close and the thought of Harry fucking his mouth was only bringing him closer. He thought he might come himself while Harry did so.

Except Harry moaned again and stopped himself. His fingers threaded through Neville's hair. “Wait,” he said, his voice ragged. “Please.”

Neville pulled off, worried he'd gone too far somehow. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry panted. “I just… I hoped you'd...”

Neville felt a delicious anticipation run through his body's arousal. “What?” he asked. “Anything.” There were things Neville thought he didn't want to do, but he was pretty sure Harry wasn't about to ask for anything he didn't also want.

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry breathed out in a rough whisper.

“Oh Merlin's Balls, yes,” Neville said. He wasn't sure if he'd been this hard in his whole life. Was it possible to come just from the thought of having sex? He had to force himself to take a few breaths and calm down slightly.

“We have all night, right?” Neville asked, moving back to lick at Harry's erection. “Let me get you off now. It'll be better if we can go slow.”

With that, he swallowed again, sucking as hard as he could. He had been right. Harry couldn't restrain himself from thrusting, using Neville's mouth, and as he did so, Neville, unable to wait any longer, fisted himself as Harry's release hit the back of his throat. His own orgasm was equally fast and he spilled over his hand and onto the sheets.

For a little while, they both lay side by side in the bed, exhausted and enjoying their afterglow. But then, slowly, Harry's fingers began to dance over Neville's chest and tease at his nipples and Neville could feel himself getting hard again.

“Where's my wand?” Neville asked, mostly rhetorically, as he fumbled over the bedside and located it.

He came back over to Harry and kissed him again. When he drew back, Harry looked quizzical.

“Cleaning charm and protection charms,” Neville said. “You really haven't… you've never done this before.”

Harry looked torn but then he said, “Not… no. Is that a problem?”

“No. No, of course not,” Neville said. “I just… are you sure, Harry?”

In answer, Harry reached up to Neville and pulled him into another kiss. Neville couldn't help but press down against him again. They rolled to their sides, lips still together. Neville wasn't sure if he'd ever kissed anyone this much. Guys you picked up randomly were a lot more interested in getting down to the business of getting off. Harry seemed intent on kissing his wits out of him repeatedly at every step.

“Oh good,” Neville said after a couple of minutes. “Because I now I really want to.”

They both laughed slightly. The urgency of their first coupling was out of the way, but Neville found that Harry still had a lazy joy about him.

Neville guided Harry to lay on his stomach and did the cleaning charm so he could put his wand back on the bedside table. “I like the Muggle lube better than anything you can conjure though,” he said, reaching for the tube in his bedside drawer. He dropped it beside the pillow and began kissing and stroking Harry's back. He could feel the strength in Harry's muscles as he traced their lines down to his arse, cupping his cheeks and then running his hand along the back of his thighs. He continued like that for awhile, stroking and teasing, before he finally ran his hand along Harry's crack, feeling the other man's shiver in response.

“It will be easier if you'll bend your knees,” Neville said, helping Harry into position. He remembered his own first experience with this form of sex just a year before. “I want it to be good for you,” he said, cringing at how utterly cliché the words sounded, though he meant it. He kissed the back of Harry's neck. Harry didn't respond, but Neville could feel the tension in his body in the way it trembled as Neville touched him. He wanted this. Neville just had to make it good.

When he slid the first finger in, beginning to stretch him open, Harry let out a little gasp, as if he hadn't really believed they were about to do this. Neville tried to go slow and he reflected that it was a very good thing they'd gotten off earlier because he was already ready again, worked up by the idea of this.

“All right?” Neville asked, watching three fingers slide in and out of Harry's hole.

“Mmm,” Harry said. “It's good.”

Neville tried to crook his fingers and hit the prostate. Harry gave a moan and started thrusting back onto his hand as he found it so he withdrew his fingers and added more lube everywhere.

“Try to stay relaxed,” he said into Harry's ear as he positioned himself over his raised arse. “You sort of want to push into it.”

As he breached him, Neville heard Harry's pants and tried to go as slowly as he could. He remembered the burn of the first time he did this. It wasn't painful exactly, just overwhelming and uncomfortable at first. He felt Harry adjusting to the intrusion as Neville moved in.

And then he was in, pressed against Harry's back, both of them practically gasping for air with the intensity of sensations. He rocked slightly, rolling his hips but afraid to do too much.

“Oh, fuck, Neville,” Harry gasped out. “Move, damn you.”

So Neville did, pulling out and then pressing in, rocking and thrusting, finding a rhythm and trying to hit Harry's sweet spot. Judging from the noises Harry was making below him, he was getting it right. And it was so good. Neville squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. It was too much. Every time he'd topped it was too much, but too much in a good way, his prick held in such a tight space, knowing he was inside his lover.

“Harry,” Neville warned.

“I need...” Harry said, but then he seemed to lose the thread of what he was saying.

Neville bit his lip again, trying to hold back his own impending release. He reached around Harry's hip and found his straining erection and grasped it.

It was too much. He came hard, his hips moving of their own power, his body unable to hold back anymore. He whited out for a moment, his breathing practically stopped.

Harry was still moaning beneath him as he came to himself. Neville rolled them, holding Harry's hip as tight as he could to keep them joined. He thrust slow and hard into him again with what was left of his erection and began to move his hand over Harry's prick. It only took a few strokes before Harry was coming as well, coating his hand and gasping his name.

Neville kissed the back of his neck and nuzzled into it. He didn't want to move.

Eventually he slipped out of Harry and both of them groaned slightly.

“Here's the part where it's extra good to do this with a wizard,” Neville mumbled, grabbing for his wand again and casting a scourgify over the mess they had made. Then he grabbed a towel from his drawer and cast a water charm on it to wipe Harry up.

“Cold,” Harry complained.

“Sorry,” Neville said, tossing the washcloth toward the laundry pile and settling back down so that he was spooned behind Harry.

Usually he would have left at this point or whoever he was with would have left. The fact that this was Harry meant that he could fall asleep with him there. It made Neville realize how much he wanted that. He wanted someone to fall asleep with. Except that he wasn't tired the way orgasm should have made him worn out. He was wired from the experience.

“You doing all right?” he asked quietly.

“So all right,” Harry said. He sounded sleepy, but like he was fighting it. “That was… that was brilliant, Neville.”

“You sure you want to get married day after tomorrow?” Neville asked. The moment he said it, he wasn't sure what had come over him. “I mean… Oh, um… Harry, I didn't mean...” He floundered.

Harry flipped over and kissed him. “Yeah. I hope that's all right.”

“No. Or, yes. It's all right. I just wanted to be sure you were sure. Most men don't… well...”

“Most men don't sleep with old school mates two days before the wedding?”

“Harry, most men don't ask to take it up the arse two days before their wedding,” Neville said bluntly.

“I know,” Harry said. There was a long silence and Neville started to think maybe Harry had fallen asleep, but then his eyes flickered open. “I love Ginny, you know.”

Neville nodded.

“I mean, I don't just love her in some abstract way. I really… I like having sex with her.”

“Oh. That's good then.” Neville hadn't wanted to ask or judge. He knew his own life would be easier if he just married some nice witch and pretended for the sake of everyone else. He was glad his gran hadn't pushed him to do that.

“Does that make me a freak?”

Neville was surprised by the break he heard in Harry's voice. The need to be reassured. His gran had told him he was still loved when he came out. And Pomona Sprout had been the one to suggest he find some “Muggles who share your preferences” to room with while he was working at the botanic gardens. He had been a bit shocked, but very touched. Maybe Harry didn't have anyone to do that for him.

“I'm pretty sure it just makes you bisexual,” Neville said.

Harry nodded, but Neville felt how his body was still tense.

“Ginny really told you to… You know...”

“She said I should pick up a guy and see. She's been on me for weeks about it. She said she didn't think we should get married without me knowing where I stood on things. I think she was worried that if I slept with another man, I'd leave her and she wanted me to do it before the wedding.”

Harry sighed. “But I couldn't bring myself to really do it. If I did anything with anyone in the wizarding world, it would get out somehow and be front page news. They still run the Prophet like a gossip tabloid sometimes. But I couldn't bring myself to go pick up some random Muggle in a bar. It just seemed wrong.” He paused. “I knew where things stood, no matter what Ginny said. I hope you understand, Neville. I knew I wouldn't want to leave her if I… I could know my own mind without this. I just also… wanted to.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Neville said. Part of him thought he should feel used, but he understood that Harry hadn't wanted to use him. And he didn't feel used. Mostly just felt sated and happy, the giddiness from earlier faded to a solid contentment.

They finally drifted off to sleep with limbs entangled.

In the morning, they were awakened by the sound of confused conversation out in the living room of Neville's flat.

“Blimey, is that Ron?” Neville asked.

Harry groaned. “Yes. It is. He's just remembered that he can trace me. It's an auror thing. It's supposed to be in case of something like being kidnapped by werewolves, but no, Ron has to use it to track me down after the lame stag night he threw me.”

From the living room, they heard angry shouts.

“Harry, I know I said I didn't want Ginny to hex me, but let me extend that to all Weasleys. I just don't want to be hexed by anyone.”

Harry moaned slightly, trying to extricate himself from the sheets. He leaned over and gave Neville a light kiss on the lips then stood up, finding his trousers and pulling his shirt on.

“I'd also like to avoid having to oblivate my flatmates too often,” Neville added.

Harry chuckled. “Ron!” he called, opening the door. “Ron! I'm fine.”

Neville hauled himself up and put on clothes as quickly as he could. Out in the living room, his two flatmates looked bewildered by Ron, who looked like he was about to explode.

“You were with Neville all night?”

“That's right.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that's all right, then.” Ron sounded as bewildered as the flatmates. “But what did you do? Neville, there you are. Will you vouch for him that you didn't take home any of those women? I've heard stories about how these stag parties end up...”

Neville's flatmates began guffawing loudly.

“What's so funny?” Ron asked, looking affronted. “If you had seen these birds… they were quite fit!”

That just made them redouble their laughter.

“They think it's funny because I'm gay, Ron,” Neville said.

“You're a poof?” Ron looked shocked, then embarrassed. “I mean… Hey, that's great, Neville. Nothing wrong with that. I mean, I wouldn't want to be… But, hey, if you are, all right then for you, I guess.”

Neville exchanged a look with Harry as the flatmates continued their guffaws.

“Right!” Ron said suddenly cheerful. “Then I know you didn't let my future brother-in-law go snog anyone else two days before the wedding.”

At this statement, Dylan, the flatmate who had walked in on them in the kitchen the night before, actually laughed so hard he fell off the sofa.

Harry also looked like he was suppressing a laugh, but Ron seemed oblivious. Neville wasn't sure if he should laugh or what. What Harry chose to tell Ron was really none of his business.

“I'll just...” Harry said, gesturing to the bedroom.

Once he had his shoes and he and Ron had left through the garden, Ron complaining about the lack of a Floo to get to this address, Neville sank down on the sofa and his flatmates renewed their laughs.

“He was the bloody groom?” Dylan asked, and Neville could see tears of amusement in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Neville admitted.

“How will you ever show your face at the wedding?” his other flatmate asked.

“Oh! Oh! Take me as your date!” Dylan begged. “Pretty please! I have to see this.”

“I can't,” Neville said, suddenly regretting that his flatmates were Muggles. “It's… you know… my sort of people… they're… it's like my family. They're clannish. Only me.”

“When the priest says does anyone have any objections, you should stand up and say you shagged the groom!”

“Maybe he'll leave her at the altar and come running to you, Nevs,” Dylan exclaimed.

“No, no,” Neville said. “I hope not. It's not like that. Just… you know… old friends.”

He couldn't quite define what was between himself and Harry. But he assumed that whatever it was, it probably wasn't about to happen again.


	4. Chapter 4

Neville couldn't decide if he was thrilled or dismayed that his first year teaching at Hogwarts was what he found out the faculty referred to as “one of those years.” A year when exciting things happened and the Ministry threatened the school and parents thought about pulling their kids out yet again.

Somehow they muddled through with no one getting killed and Neville, who wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to the idea that he was allowed to call Professor McGonnagal Minerva, was relieved to hear her tell him that they knew what was causing all the problems and that the moment the students left on the Hogwarts Express for the summer, the aurors would be moving in. “Students who aren't really students,” she said, rubbing her head. “Who would have believed little Jessamyn could be a changechild. Her poor family.”

Neville, along with the other faculty, helped ring the Great Hall as half a dozen aurors went to capture the changechild. If they caught her in some sort of a glass enclosure that Neville didn't totally understand, they might be able to find the original Jessamyn Stone. The fight that ensued was ferocious.

When it finished, the girl having been caught and new experts running in to help, Neville watched as Harry, Ron, and an older, short woman Neville didn't know staggered out of the Hall. Ron was injured. His arm had a gash bad enough to be dangerous and he was walking funny, as if something had happened to his foot. The woman looked mostly unharmed, though her face had a long cut. Harry was just pale, but it was him that the other two aurors looked like they were worried about.

“Should I get Poppy for you, Ron?” Neville asked. “She might have gone in with the Ministry people, but I think...” His arm really looked gruesome.

Ron didn't pay him any attention, but hurried after Harry as best he could. “Don't you dare walk away!” he yelled. “We can't… If you...”

“I'm fine, Ron,” Harry said, pausing to turn around. He didn't look fine. He looked like he was going to be sick. In fact, Neville recognized this look from Harry, though it had been years since he'd seen it. Harry looked haunted and distressed the way he had when Neville saw him the months after the Battle of Hogwarts, the way he'd looked at Colin's funeral all those years ago.

“Harry,” Neville said, thinking fast. “Maybe I can help you get cleaned up and, um, your colleague...”

“Jaya Patil,” she supplied. “Come on, Ron. Let's get you to the hospital wing.”

Ron looked angry, but Neville didn't get to hear what he said because Harry ran ahead, ducking into a bathroom in the hallway leading up to Gryffindor Tower. By the time Neville caught up with him, Harry was crouched over one of the toilets heaving.

Neville came up behind him, trying to be sure to make warning noises, and laid a hand gently on Harry's back.

“Hey,” he said as Harry finished and sat back on his heels.

“I'm fine,” Harry said, almost irritably.

“I know,” Neville said quietly.

“I've got a bit of calming drought,” Harry said. “But Ron doesn't think I should take it.”

“Too much of that stuff can make you pretty out of it,” Neville said.

“I haven't even had any in months.”

“Mmm...” Neville said. “I, um, I have some yellow cherry in the greenhouse. Not as, well, magically potent as a calming potion, but maybe…”

“Maybe.” Harry leaned against the side of the toilet stall.

“This is a terrible place for a conversation,” Neville observed.

For a moment, Neville thought Harry was going to argue with him. He looked like he was ready to explode at someone. Finally though, he stood up, wiping his mouth, and headed to the sinks to wash his face and hands.

“All right. We can walk to the greenhouses,” Harry said.

At first they went slowly, but as soon as they got outside, some of the tension seemed to leave him and he breathed easier so Neville risked talking. They hadn't crossed paths since Neville had started at Hogwarts the previous fall so he talked about being back at Hogwarts, living amongst all the kids, finding his footing with teaching, trying to live up to tending some of the best magical greenhouses in Britain.

As they reached the garden house, Neville pulled out his wand to undo the locking charm then began hesitantly to ask about how things were for Harry lately.

They wandered through Neville's house to the back way into the greenhouse. The weather was brilliantly sunny and warm. He gathered the cherry and brewed a tea with it for Harry then they sat on the little patio between the house and greenhouse classrooms.

Harry gave terse answers at first. Ginny was fine. James and Albus were fine. Work was fine. The new house in the village was fine.

Then Neville made the mistake of asking about Ron.

“Never marry your best mate's sister,” Harry said darkly, rolling his eyes.

“That bad?”

“No,” Harry said. “He's just not especially helpful when we have problems. He just makes it worse and tries to meddle too much. He makes Ginny furious too. It's probably the thing we agree about most often these days.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Neville said.

Harry shrugged. “I'm exaggerating. I think we're just exhausted. James took secret lessons from Peeves or possibly is the reincarnation of Fred Weasley. And Albus is just so young still. All kids are needy at that age, you know. He doesn't even really sleep through the night half the time. And,” Harry sighed deeply, “we're not telling anyone yet so don't spread it around, but Ginny is preggers again.”

“Congratulations,” Neville said, but seeing Harry's grim face, he cocked his head. “Or not?”

“No, it'll be brilliant. She hopes it's a girl finally. I'm not upset. Really, I'm not. It just wasn't exactly planned so we're scrambling a bit. We especially want to keep it out of the Prophet for now. When she had Albus, some reporter who must have been trained by Rita Skeeter herself actually burst in on her with her skirt up while she was in with the midwife then tried to print a story saying she was secretly having a love child with a house elf.”

“Ah. That's um… it sounds rather annoying.” Neville forgot sometimes that Harry had to deal with the press constantly, even to this day.

“Ginny feels a little bitter. She had hoped to be able to get back on her broom some time this year. And she misses having a career, I think. So then she gets angry at me about being home all day with a miniature prankster and a toddler and a nasty bout of morning sickness while I'm out. Except I'm pretty much always either filling out reports behind a desk, getting an earful from Ron about how his marriage is doing just dandy, or out in the field getting hexed.” He gestured vaguely back toward the castle.

“What happened in there?” Neville asked carefully. They'd both been sipping the tea he made and Neville could taste the magical herbs.

“Who knew a changechild could call fiendfyre like that?” Harry said. “It's been centuries since there's been any kind of changeling in Britain. Probably people have forgotten. This wasn't my case. Just called in as backup at the last minute. Thank goodness I don't have to go take care of the aftermath, though the fire was mostly contained.”

Neville waited.

“I bloody hate fire,” Harry said after a moment. “Of course, in the moment, it's always fine. I know I looked like a mess after but it's only after, you see? In the middle of taking down a werewolf gang or going up against a dark wizard, it's easy to be calm. But after it's over, that's another matter.

“I saw a Healer for awhile. Ron thinks… Well, you probably know your friend Healer Fernsby was helpful a few years ago.”

Neville hadn't known. In the months after Colin's funeral, he had owled Harry and not heard back. He'd assumed that Althea Fernsby hadn't been useful and that he'd really screwed up calling her. He'd just been happy to resume the friendship after awhile.

“But mostly Healers are rubbish for things like this. The Muggles have a name for it,” he continued. “Sometimes Muggles are ahead of us about some things, you know.”

“I know,” Neville agreed. He was still glad he'd spent the two years working at the Muggle gardens and living among Muggles. In the wizarding world, being gay meant hiding it. He had always thought it would be something he would have to quietly hide from all but his closest friends until he lived in a flat full of queers who talked about being out and proud and made jokes about sex and expected him to do the same. He was still an outsider because he could never quite fit in with them. Electricity buzzed too much and Muggle methods weren't all better. But he had learned a lot about how to be happy from those years.

“They call it post-traumatic stress,” Harry said. “When you have so much shite happen that your brain breaks a little bit and gets stressed when it doesn't need to bother anymore. I don't even know which trauma is supposed to have broken me. Too bloody many, I guess.”

Neville wanted very much to grab Harry and hug him, but he wasn't sure if it was a good idea or not and before he could decide, Harry seemed to move on.

“This isn't bad, Neville.” He gestured to the mug of tea he had just finished off. He set it down on the little table across from the bench where they sat.

“I'll send you home with some. And some other things to help Albus sleep.”

“Thanks. I know I'm probably very pathetic sounding, whinging to you about all this. I wouldn't trade my life, but I am finding it very hard to actually like it these days. You know, I don't think anyone ever really showed me how to be an adult. Perhaps that's why Ron is so much happier and better at it.”

“Probably Hermione's just doing all his homework,” Neville said, making Harry chuckle. “I was always jealous back in school of you two for that most of all.”

“You didn't miss out a bit,” Harry said. “Any time she caved and did it, it came with a side of judgement and a long lecture about doing your own work.”

“I don't mind a good lecture,” Neville said.

At that moment, in the field beyond the greenhouses, there was a movement and a small thumping noise. Harry tensed suddenly, his shoulders rising, the hair on his neck standing up.

Neville reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “It's garden gnomes. Hagrid was supposed to help me get rid of them but… you know Hagrid and creatures.”

Harry nodded, then he laughed slightly, obviously trying to make light of his jumpiness, but then the laugh turned into a slightly choked off sob.

Neville couldn't stop himself this time. He grabbed Harry's hand and leaned across the space of the bench to draw him into an embrace. Harry didn't start crying, but just breathed deeply, his hands clenched around the back of Neville's shirt.

Eventually, it seemed like they had hugged for long enough, or possibly even awkwardly too long. They broke apart, but it was obvious Harry didn't want to let go. “Neville,” he said. It didn't seem to be a question, just a statement. Neville leaned in and gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. “It'll all come right,” he said quietly.

Harry wrapped his arms around Neville again. As Neville moved back, one of Harry's hands cupped the back of his head and brought them together for a proper kiss.

It was long and slow. Neville could feel arousal run through him. Harry was hard to say no to in the best of times. A Harry feeling vulnerable and needy was even harder, as Neville remembered from their first encounter years before. The fact that they were sitting together at Hogwarts reminded Neville of how he'd had a raging crush on the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the roguish quidditch captain during their sixth year.

But somehow Neville managed to make himself stop. “Harry, we can't,” he said, full of regret.

Harry pulled back and made to stand up. Neville thought he might walk off in a huff.

“Don't go,” Neville ordered the best he could. He grabbed Harry's hand again and interlaced their fingers then kissed him lightly on the lips. He wanted so much for Harry to know he wasn't rejecting him, it just wasn't right this time. “You're hurting and confused and you just vented to me for an hour about how your marriage is unhappy. You're vulnerable right now. We shouldn't do this.”

Harry bowed his head slightly but he didn't argue with Neville and squeezed his hand.

“Besides,” Neville added. “I'm seeing someone.”

“Who?” Harry looked up, interested. “Neville, that's great.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“What's his name?”

“Don't laugh,” Neville said. “It's Trevor.”

“Trevor like...”

“Yes, I know, like my toad as a child.”

Harry laughed so Neville swatted him and made a how dare you face.

“So what is Trevor the man like?”

“He runs the apothecary shop in Hogsmeade. He plays the violin and likes cooking magic. He's a few years older that us. Muggle born. His mother is French. He grew up abroad.”

“Wait. No.”

“What?”

“He's half French?”

“Yes,” Neville said carefully.

“Trevor the Frog!” Harry exclaimed, laughing.

“Oh no!” Neville said, but he laughed too.

“Ribbit,” Harry said.

“Do not make fun of my boyfriend,” Neville proclaimed. “I know magic, you know.”

“Do you?” Harry smiled, obviously about to make another joke, but then his face changed and he looked wistful. “I didn't mean to… Ginny doesn't usually mind, you know. She gets it. But it's been awhile. I mean… awhile for Ginny and I and awhile since anyone...”

“You don't need to tell me,” Neville said.

Harry squeezed his hand. “You're right, of course. I hate being all adult about things.”

“For the record, so do I occasionally,” Neville said. He leaned forward so that they were back within each other's space. “You're bloody hard to turn down, Harry Potter.”

“I'll bet you say that to all the cute boys,” Harry said.

They drew together for another kiss. Neville understood this one as a goodbye kiss or a friendly kiss, a kiss that acknowledged their mutual arousal and desire while admitting they weren't really going to do anything about it, at least this time. He grabbed hold of the memory of them together just before Harry's wedding and a vision of Harry, sweaty, naked, stretched out below him with a broad grin shuddered through Neville's memory.

“Bloody hell!”

Neville knew Ron's voice without looking. A sinking feeling ran through him. Harry didn't even look up, but rested his forehead on Neville's shoulder in a gesture of defeat instead, leaving Neville to be the one actually facing Ron.

Ron's auror robes looked battered and his arm was now in a sling, but otherwise, he seemed like he'd been patched up in the hospital wing.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he demanded. Neville wasn't sure if the question was for him or Harry.

“It was just a kiss,” Neville said. As soon as the words had escaped his lips, he felt like an idiot. It was just a kiss because they'd just agreed not to do anything. Except a kiss was not much of anything. Neville knew that most people wouldn't see it that way, but he couldn't escape his own sense, one that Harry seemed to mostly share, that sex wasn't anything especially exclusive or taboo as long as everyone was happy and willing. And that physical affection would good. He wanted to smack himself for trying to say that in front of Ron though. He'd obviously spent too much time with queers.

“Just… just...” Ron sputtered and looked shocked. “Get away from him!”

Neville still wasn't sure if Ron was addressing him or Harry, but when Harry didn't move away, Ron pulled his wand and pointed it solidly at Neville.

“Ron,” Neville said, unsure what to do.

Harry finally turned around. “Oh for fuck's sake, Ron. You're not going to do anything to Neville.”

“Oh won't I? I will if he's done something to you.” However, Ron lowered his wand.

“I'll just go get that herbal stuff I promised you,” Neville said, standing up for the bench. “I'll let you two talk.”

Neville went in his greenhouse and began going through his apothecary chest for more cherry tea for Harry and a mix of a few things to help his youngest son sleep better. His heart was pounding with dread. They hadn't done anything, and if he'd somehow managed to destroy Harry and Ron's friendship, he knew he'd hate himself for it. It would be even worse if it somehow hurt his marriage to Ginny. He believed Harry that he loved her, that he loved his family. Neville knew he was just the distraction, the outsider.

He tarried as long as he could, then he went back out to his patio hesitantly, standing in the doorway to assess the scene. Harry and Ron were both standing, rowing with as much control and quiet as they could muster.

“So you're a poofter now?” Ron sounded incredulous.

“That's not what I said.”

“Then bloody explain it!”

“If you want me to explain it, maybe you shouldn't call me names.”

“What? Poof?” Ron spied Neville coming out of the greenhouse and gestured. “That's not calling names. Neville doesn't mind.”

Neville thought about going back into the greenhouse. Ron wasn't any worse than most wizards or Muggles really. But this was exactly why he didn't tend to discuss his sexuality with most people.

“Ron, there's no way I can explain it to you,” Harry complained. “You and your perfect life that you're perfectly happy with and if only we'd all do things like you, we'd all end up perfectly happy too. Except I'm not you.”

“You would do well to take a tip or two, the way you and Gin are always miserable these days. And if you're cheating on her too, and with another man...” Ron's voice cracked. “I have to tell her, Harry, if you're off… buggering. She's my sister. You can't keep this from her. If you don't tell her, I will!”

“Who says she doesn't already know?” Harry asked savagely. “Despite what you seem to think, you don't know everything about my life!”

Neville felt like he shouldn't be there, but he suspected that if he tried to go back inside, it would just call attention to his presence. He could see Ron go all red faced.

“Only because you don't tell me anything!” Ron wailed back. “I thought we were best mates, but you don't even… How could you keep this from me? Don't you trust me?” His voice had risen beyond the controlled level they had been trying to keep earlier and for a moment, Neville wondered if he was going to cry, but then he let out one final angry noise and stomped off the patio, back toward the greenhouse classrooms.

“Fuck,” Harry said.

Neville finally left his doorway. He thrust the brown paper bag with everything into Harry's hands. “You should go after him.”

“I've made a right mess of things,” Harry said. “He's not wrong, I probably should have, you know, come out to him at some point. He can just be such an arse when it comes to Ginny and me.”

Neville nodded. Part of him wanted to wrap Harry in another hug but he resisted the urge to help. “Tell me if you need anything. Please come around for tea this summer. Bring the kids and get them out of poor Ginny's hair some Sunday. But right now, go catch up with Ron please. I've seen you two be best mates since you were eleven and it kills me to think I might have helped ruin it.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. All right. Thanks, Neville.”

Neville watched him go after Ron, who had already gotten out of sight on the other side of the greenhouses, headed back toward the castle presumably. He hoped that everything could be worked out and that Harry really would send an owl. He breathed out slowly, trying to release the tension. He knew that he probably ought to go help with whatever cleanup was happening in the Great Hall, but he was too worked up and the only cure for that available was the gardens. With summer warmth upon them, they needed his attention anyway. He pulled on his gloves and trod down the hill into the vegetable patch.


	5. Chapter 5

The birthday was a massive afternoon garden party. Ginny had thrown it as a surprise party and when Harry emerged from the house and found them all behind his house with cakes and ba-ba-balloons and party hats, he'd clearly not expected them because he was still shirtless, in mud boots, getting ready to weed the garden, or so he thought.

“You did this!” he kept accusing his wife, who had a wide grin on her face.

The trouble with gatherings like this was that they were always filled with his students or former students. James, Albus, and Scorpius clearly delighted in getting to call him by his first name with abandon, but Rose, Hugo, Lily, and Roxanne all looked aghast and kept calling him Professor. It always made Neville feel like he shouldn't relax too much.

Not that it was much of a concern. Whenever he was invited to anything involving the extended Weasley family, he was overwhelmed by the number of people there. And it was always all couples with children. Most of the adults knew Neville was happily unmarried, even at age 40. But it felt awkward to him that he couldn't bring anyone. Harry wouldn't have minded, of course, but it would have meant creating a whole thing with the kids and some of the older people who didn't know. He wasn't seeing anyone at the moment anyway so it wasn't like he had anything to be resentful of, it was just one of those little things that made him feel like he never quite fit in completely anywhere.

He talked to Arthur Weasley about the new Muggle mobile phones. Neville had one for various reasons and was able to show it off. Arthur was pretty convinced it ran on magic and Neville was honestly inclined to agree. It didn't work very well among this many wizards though and the screen kept going dark and having to restart it to make any of the various things work.

Hermione came to talk to him about whether Hugo was really as hopeless in class as he seemed. Neville thought Hugo was immature and needed to grow up a little more and was trying to figure out a way to say that nicely when Ron came and started arguing with both of them about Hugo's marks all term.

“I don't know what Professor Westenberg thinks she's doing in that Potions class,” Ron complained. “Hugo just needs more guidance. No one seems to be giving him the support he needs. And his friends are such a terrible influence.”

He went on like this for a long time. Neville had learned to deal with parents like this firmly. It was awkward when it was someone like Ron that he knew from his childhood, but Neville did his best to nod and not say much of anything. It was Hermione who got fed up with him.

“Stop making excuses for him, Ron,” she said. “You know what Hogwarts is like. He needs to be able to do it himself.”

“For what it's worth,” Neville interjected, “I think he's just a late-bloomer. I was one myself if you recall.”

“What are you implying?” Ron asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“Oh good grief, Ron,” Hermione said, annoyed. “He's implying that Hugo could stand to grow up a little. And he could. I'm sorry, Neville. We'll leave you alone to enjoy the party.” She looked embarrassed and they walked away bickering.

Next he listened to Teddy and Victoire update him about life after Hogwarts. Luna came over and wanted to talk about barnacle trees. She had one and said that geese would be hatching from it any day. If they ever did, Neville assured her, he really did want to see it. Then some of Harry's Ministry colleagues tried to draw him into an argument about whether or not Hogwarts should expand to include a day program for students age nine and ten. “Magical education is just sorely lacking in the early years,” one of them said. Then James and some of the other kids flew over on brooms, dropping an array of fireworks in their wake. By that point, Neville was ready to escape the whole thing.

As he stood on the edge of the giant garden, Ginny came up and gave him a hug. “You came alone?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at her.

“Well, you would have been welcome to bring Trevor,” she said. 

“Trevor moved to Denmark,” he said.

“What?”

“Around the winter holidays. Business opportunity.” At Ginny's look of dismay, he shrugged. “It's all right. We did fight about it a bit, but it's for the best. We've been on and again off again for too long. Perhaps this will help us be off again for good.”

“I always look forward to parties so I can catch up with everyone and then it's always such a zoo that I can't catch up with anyone properly and all I get are these teasers.” She gave him a shrewd look. “You weren't planning to leave already, were you?”

“Perhaps,” Neville said.

“No, no. That won't do. There's only really another hour or so more of this. Then we will have eaten cake and feted Harry enough. The whole group of kids is leaving to stay at the Burrow for a week then camp with Teddy by the shore so we're about to be alone. You might even say lonely. Please stay for supper.”

“I don't want to impose,” Neville said.

“You're not imposing! I can catch you up about me and you and Harry can chat. I know he'd like to see you as well. Say you'll stay.”

“Fine. I'll help you clean up this mess,” Neville joked.

“Don't think I won't put you to work!” Ginny said.

So Neville waited out the party on the edge of the garden, mostly staying out of the way as people sang and laughed and played. James and Bill got Harry on a broomstick for a little while until a bludger took out one of the cakes and Molly Weasley told everyone that she was sick of their shenanigans. Ginny used some spell to make the cake go right and her mother apologized for losing her temper and everyone ate the cake, which was only slightly squishy in the center from its accident.

People left slowly until Neville was alone in the garden with Ginny, helping her clean as promised. Mostly he was restoring the trampled garden beds and encouraging the grass to grow while Ginny dismantled and levitated the tables into a small storage shed.

“What are you still doing here?” Harry asked when Neville came inside to wash up.

“Ginny told me to stay for supper.”

Harry had a comical look on his face for a moment and then he burst out laughing, though Neville wasn't totally sure why. “Oh that's brilliant. Great. Yes. Supper. Though I don't know that I'll have room for anything after all that cake.”

Once the garden was cleaned, they had wine and Harry and Neville played wizard chess and talked. Of course they crossed paths or had lunch here and there, but it had been awhile since Neville had seen Harry and Ginny for this long. He was glad that they were so happy. He remembered all the points over the last few years that they had seemed like they might fall apart and he was glad they seemed so much more settled. Part of him wistfully wished he was settled, though he wasn't totally sure what that would even mean. Every time he and Trevor had gotten close to making a firmer commitment, it had been Neville who backed out. He remembered Harry telling him once that he never learned to be an adult and Neville wondered if he didn't suffer from the same problem. Maybe it was a problem of orphans not to know what their adulthood was supposed to look like.

“I should probably get home,” Neville said once the sun had set, looking out at the countryside beyond Harry's home. “I'll take the Floo back to the headmistress's office, I suppose.”

“Or you could stay,” Ginny said from the kitchen.

“There's really no need,” Neville said. “It's not that late.”

Harry smiled. “Just to be clear, I'm pretty sure my wonderful wife was inviting you to a roll in my bed, not to sleeping on the sofa.”

“Happy birthday?” Ginny said.

“Merlin's balls,” Neville said. “You two.”

“Is that a yes?” Harry asked.

“Fuck. Yes?” Neville said. “I also just had a birthday. Us old folks have to get it where we can,” he joked.

Harry grinned and Neville was glad to have the happy Harry in front of him. He wondered if the moody, anxiety-ridden Harry was just under the surface, though he wasn't sure if there was anything he could do about it. Neville smiled back.

“All right, men,” Ginny said. “Come put away the dishes and I'll let you in my bedroom.”

Harry picked up his wand and pointed it toward the kitchen.

“Oh no you don't!” Ginny said. “This is why we have all chipped dishes.”

“It'll be fine.”

“Won't!”

“Will!”

“Fine!” Ginny said. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, as Harry, giving Neville a look with his eyebrows raised, cast a wordless spell toward the kitchen. The dishes began settling themselves on the shelves and Harry looked almost smug, though Ginny didn't budge. Then, right at the end, there was the clinking sound of a collision and it was obvious something had gotten chipped.

“Bollocks,” Harry said.

“See!” Ginny exclaimed. “See what I put up with, Neville. And this is the finest the wizarding world has to offer.”

“Don't believe my press clippings,” Harry said.

Neville could tell this was a real argument, but one that had become lighthearted with time. Maybe this was what marriage was like. Either your arguments got bigger than you or you got bigger than your arguments. He felt himself grinning as Harry reached out and grabbed his hand.

Neville remembered the other time they had really done this properly, after Harry's bachelor party. They had been so desperate the way that they couldn't stop kissing for even a moment as they went to Neville's tiny room back in that Muggle flat.

Now, with age, sex had become something no one felt they have to sprint to get to. Neville could feel the excitement of anticipation running through him, but it was a slow burn. Harry brushed his own teeth and loaned Neville a toothbrush as well before they went into the bedroom.

By the time they got there, fingers began to run over each other's backs, into each other's hair. Neville was glad Harry's hadn't thinned much. It was still wild and slightly thick. He snaked fingers through it then brought Harry's head so that their lips lined up.

Harry tasted of cinnamon toothpaste and smelled like summer, almost like a garden, probably from having been outside most of the day. The kiss deepened and went on and on. Neville thought that kissing should always be this way. It had been awhile since he had a lover who was as content as Harry seemed to be to kiss as almost a destination in and of itself.

Neville reached his hands under Harry's shirt, feeling the slight down on hair on his chest, the muscles that were not the wiry strength of their youth, but the thick strength of middle age and long, hard use.

Harry pulled his shirt over his head, so Neville did the same. The lamps showed that Harry had scars on his body. One went across his shoulder to his arm. Neville leaned over and kissed it, pressed his hands, palms wide, over Harry's chest while he enjoyed Harry's hands on his back, reaching to run along the skin just under the top of his trousers.

There was a slight sound in the room that made Neville pause and look behind him.

“Don't mind me,” Ginny said, standing in the doorway.

“Do you mind if she stays?” Harry asked, his hands moving to Neville's arse.

“Um,” Neville said. “I'm not sure I'm in much of a position to object. I'm here at your leave.”

“But I don't want to bother you,” Ginny said.

Neville laughed slightly. “You wouldn't bother me, Gin. I wasn't sure I'd do much for you, all things considered.”

Harry leaned in to Neville's ear. “She'll get plenty out of it. Trust me. She likes to watch.”

“I'm not sure if I'm all that good in front of an audience,” Neville replied quietly.

“Nev, if you're half as good as the night we were together before the wedding, it'll be earth shattering good.”

As if to prove the veracity of his words, Neville felt the press of Harry's erection through his jeans and sighed slightly at the feel of that hardness. He was also already hard. “You're mad,” he said, pressing his lips to Harry's ear.

“Is that a yes then?”

“Go ahead, Ginny,” Neville said louder so she could hear.

Neville was only slightly aware of Ginny settling herself on an overstuffed chair on the other side of the bed because Harry dropped his jeans and came to his knees in front of Neville and pressed his face to Neville's crotch.

Neville stifled a moan as Harry unbuckled his belt and let his trousers and pants slide to the floor. 

“You can sit on the bed,” Harry offered, his hands on Neville's thighs, his breath on Neville's erection.

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly, backing up slightly to step out of his puddled trousers and find the bed's edge.

Then Harry's mouth was on him and Neville groaned unabashedly when, after several teasing tastes, he was wrapped in warm wetness. He curled one hand in Harry's hair and supported himself upright on the bed with the other.

It was so good. The best part was watching Harry slide almost all the way off and then sink back on him again. Harry was good at this, his jaw slack enough to take in Neville almost all the way if he wanted, his hands cupping Neville's balls and running along the inside of his thigh.

As Neville felt himself getting closer, Harry drew off and stood back up.

Neville moaned, frustrated but glad Harry had the sense to make it last. He wanted to enjoy every moment of this.

Harry peeled off his own clothes and climbed on the bed with Neville, so Neville flipped him and pressed chest to chest, kissing him again for awhile, enjoying the exploration of hands and mouths.

“How are we doing this?” he asked after a bit.

Harry's eyes closed. “Neville, sometimes I still wank thinking about how good you were that night.”

Neville felt his eyes widen. “Right then.”

“That all right?” Harry's eyes opened and looked into Neville's. His hands stroked up and down Neville's back.

“Yeah. Very all right. Just a bit surprised.”

“You don't top often?”

“It's not that. More that I thought maybe that was a bit of a one off exploration for you. That you might be a bit more alpha male in bed than you were with me that night.”

From the chair, Neville heard Ginny snort slightly. He had almost forgotten they had an audience. He glanced over and saw that she was in knickers and a tiny shirt that didn't hide much. Her pale legs were stretched to rest on the other side of the bed, her red painted toenails nearly close enough to touch. She looked amused by Neville's obvious misconception. He wasn't sure when she'd slipped out of her proper clothes. He turned away in time to see Harry blushing slightly below him.

Neville could only grin in response, leaning down to kiss Harry fully again, feeling free to push him a little, pressing his tongue in and biting Harry's lip. He was pleased to hear Harry's moans of pleasure in response.

He straddled Harry's legs and began to kiss down his chest, sucking then biting each nipple, then mouthing at his belly button and nipping at the insides of his thighs.

Harry pulled a pillow from behind him and put it under his hips then planted his feet on the bed, knees up. From nowhere, though he supposed it was probably Ginny's doing, Neville saw a bottle of lube fall onto he bed.

He leaned down to lick and tease at Harry's erection and balls, enjoying Harry's reactions and noises. Finally, he grabbed the bottle and got down to the business of prepping him, taking his time and stretching him. Harry was clearly no stranger to this and Neville wondered vaguely where his experience came from. Did Harry get himself off this way, did Ginny do it for him, or did they bring a long string of men into the bed with them? Regardless, Neville could see how Harry knew what he wanted and knew how to tilt his hips into Neville's touch and how to relax his muscles so he could enjoy Neville's strokes. It wasn't long before Harry was fucking himself on three of Neville's fingers, clearly begging for more.

By then, Neville was pretty ready himself. He smeared lube on himself, lined up and pressed in.

Harry lifted his hips and wrapped his legs around Neville. Neville loved doing this face to face with his partner. He liked watching his partner's face and watching Harry was no exception. Harry looked so intent, so focused, as Neville pressed inside him. Neville moved slowly, enjoying the tight warmth.

When he was fully inside, he watched as Harry's face shifted. His eyes opened, his mouth parted and let out a short sigh of breath, the tension in his face slipped away. His pupils were wide and their eyes met. Neville hoped he looked even half as beautiful as Harry did at that moment.

He leaned in for a kiss and began to move back out and then in again, keeping it slow and focused, trying to watch Harry for cues. Harry seemed to be mostly beyond words. Neville knew that feeling, when everything was overwhelming and good, when you felt so filled that you didn't think there was even room for coherent thoughts in your head.

They moved together like that for awhile and it was so, so good. Neville wanted to keep his slow, deliberate pace but his body was starting to urge him to move more, to push toward orgasm. He wondered if Harry felt the same. He looked like everything was bliss.

And then Harry's eyes and attention shifted for a moment. He turned his head to the side and Neville followed his gaze to Ginny, still seated in the overstuffed chair. She was naked now. Neville could see her breasts, her red hair draped over one of them. One hand was between her legs, moving, fingers stroking in some way Neville couldn't see. He jerked his gaze away and back to Harry's face.

Below him, Harry let out a low, happy moan. Then he brought his head back to the center and looked back up at Neville.

“More,” he said.

Neville bent down to kiss him hard and full. He sucked Harry's lip ferociously and resisted the urge to pound into him because suddenly he wanted to give Harry more.

“I'm going to pull out,” he said, as they broke apart. “That all right?”

Harry groaned. It was not all right.

“I just want to try a different position,” he said. He ran his fingers over Harry's chest and down to his hip.

Harry moved his legs and they broke apart. Neville felt his desire straining more than he had felt during sex in awhile and he knew Harry felt the same. He laid back on the pillows. He quickly groped for the lube and added more for good measure.

He pulled Harry to him so that the other man's back was to his chest.

“Trusting you, Nev,” Harry murmured and Neville sighed, hoping he was doing right. He wasn't totally sure what had gotten into him. It was good, before. But something about the way Harry had asked for more made him want to give him something else.

He dragged Harry up, into his lap, and then basically pulled him onto his erection. They both groaned as they connected again. Neville began thrusting up into him slowly and felt Harry begin to relax into it again.

From this position, Neville had even better access to Harry's body and he spent a few minutes enjoying it, running hands over his chest then down to stroke Harry's erection. Harry's head fell back so that Neville's face was next to his neck. He kissed there and then sucked and bit, feeling Harry quiver with pleasure and listening to his moans.

From the other side of the bed, Neville heard another sound of pleasure. Ginny had leaned forward and was watching eagerly. Neville looked at her, suddenly unsure. He wasn't turned off by her nakedness. She was a friend, trusted and loved. But he didn't want to stop either. Harry was close, but he wanted to reduce him even further to release, not just to orgasm, but to letting go.

His eyes met Ginny's and she raised her brow in question.

“Yeah,” Neville said.

And then she was crawling on the bed, looking eager. “And here you said you wouldn't do anything for me. Are you sure, Neville?”

He nodded and braced himself as she climbed over them both. He couldn't see whatever passed between the two of them, but he grabbed Harry's wrists and restrained them as Ginny straddled him. And then he felt as Harry shook with pleasure as he found himself in the middle.

It was already a bit athletic, this position. As Ginny's weight was added to the equation, it became more so. But at the same time, the pressure was incredible. And the way that he felt Harry between them. Neville didn't think he could hold on much longer and he was sure Harry was close as well. He began to thrust up in earnest, feeling as Ginny pressed down and Harry's arse gripped him tight.

Neville wasn't sure how to read Ginny's pleasure or when or if she orgasmed at all. But he felt Harry's as he shook and spasmed around him. Neville rode it out and then, with two more thrusts of his own, felt his own orgasm run through him and he whited out for a moment with the intensity of it.

He came to gasping, calling out Harry's name.

For a minute, they all lay there tangled together. Neville still felt winded, like he'd carried a two stone bag of fertilizer across the garden several times over.

“Well, that was intense,” Harry said lazily. “And unexpected.”

“Mm,” Neville managed. “Heavy.”

Ginny laughed and swung her leg over and climbed off. Neville rolled Harry away, feeling his faded erection slip out and hearing Harry's moan as it did.

Ginny seemed completely in possession of her wits, unlike the two of them. She tossed the lube out of the way and used her wand to clean everyone up, doing a better job than Neville thought he could have done.

Neville watched as Ginny spooned up behind Harry, kissing his neck and running her fingers affectionately through his hair, which was wilder than ever now. He looked at Harry's hand resting on his bare chest and the look of bliss on Harry's face. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was about to fall asleep.

Suddenly it was all too much. Neville wasn't even sure what was too much exactly, just that he felt suddenly overwhelmed and like he was about to jump out of his own skin.

It was Ginny, propped on her elbow behind her husband, who noticed Neville's shift in mood.

“Hey, are you all right, Nev? Do you need me to leave?”

He looked at her, shaking his head. “It's your bed.” He was just a guest and maybe that was part of it. “Maybe I should go.”

Harry's eyes flickered open. “Please don't. Now it actually is late.”

Ginny climbed over Harry, who made annoyed noises at her. She came to rest on the other side of Neville, but then suddenly looked unsure of herself, glancing down at her nakedness. “Should I put on some clothes?”

Considered what they had just done, it seemed pretty silly. Neville wondered if he could now claim to have had sex with a woman at least once. Probably it didn't really count. Neville shook his head. “I'm not scared of your tits, Ginny,” he said.

She took his hand and laid it on her breast with an exaggerated leer. Her skin was smooth and the weight of her breast surprised him slightly. She was clearly trying to lighten his mood and tease him, but now he was sandwiched between Harry, still clasping his left hand, and Ginny, a very female part of her anatomy now resting under his right, and it was only emphasizing for him how much of an outsider he was there.

“Sorry, Neville,” Ginny said, sitting up slightly and grabbing her wand from the bedside table. She accio'ed her shirt and pants.

“No, it's not…” Neville stammered. “I'm ruining the moment.”

Ginny slid her loose shirt over her head and pulled on the underpants, which were red with golden yellow lace. Gryffindor pants. Under other circumstances, Neville would have found it funny.

“You really didn't have to...” Neville said as he watched her.

Harry grabbed his attention. “She can't stand sleeping naked. She'd do it in a minute anyway.” He brushed his hand against Neville's cheek then leaned forward for a kiss. “What's the matter?”

“I think I'm rather jealous of you two,” Neville said. “And maybe a bit more lonely than I realized.”

“Then you definitely need to stay,” Ginny said. She pulled the sheet up over the two men and laid down on her side next to Neville, leaving him still sandwiched between the two Potters.

“Yes, please,” Harry said. “Stay and don't be lonely. We'll have brilliant morning sex and Ginny will feed you breakfast.”

“If you think I'm going to go cook while you two have at it, then you're dumber than a flobberworm.”

“Fine, you can sit right there and enjoy the show and then make us breakfast.”

Ginny snorted, but Neville could tell they were teasing each other. It didn't exactly help being between that.

“I'm still an outsider,” Neville said. “I feel like I'm intruding.”

“Aren't we all outsiders?” Harry asked. “Neville, you've been there for me many times when I needed you. Maybe I'm just returning the favor. I hope I'm returning the favor. We're a bit unbalanced come to think of it. I probably owe you lots of breakfasts.” 

“I feel like I'm playing pretend with you,” Neville said.

“There's nothing pretend,” Harry said. He paused, looking serious. “I do love you, Neville. I hope you understand what I mean...”

Neville thought he did understand what Harry meant. He loved them as well. Just like he loved Luna and Dean and Hannah and maybe a few dozen more people he'd known in his life. He and Harry had this extra, complicating thing of sex between them, but somehow they'd made it not complicating.

It was Harry who didn't understand what he meant. Neville was playing pretend that he could lay there in Harry's marriage bed and feel loved and complete the way their marriage was when that was what he didn't have. What Harry and Ginny offered him was affection and love and acceptance, but not the partnership and domesticity that only they could share. Yet Neville had never been able to make himself commit to that. It was a mystery on some level to him and every time he came close, with Trevor, with a couple of other men over the years, he found he couldn't trust it.

But maybe pretending was how you learned. Neville sighed and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Ginny cuddled against his side, asking, “This all right?” before laying her head on the pillow next to his. Once Neville seemed more settled and relaxed, Harry found his way back to that deep sleep that Neville realized always hit him after orgasm.

And Neville lay there holding both the feeling of being an outsider and of being loved and included in something bigger than himself until he also drifted to sleep.


End file.
